Chapter Text
“You’re back!” Scott comes dashing out the front door of the Hale house to scoop Stiles into a big hug, pushing his face into his best friend’s neck. Stiles laughs and pats Scott on the head in a way that usually gets him smacked for treating him like a puppy or something.
The killing of the nocnitsa had been a quiet affair. Benjamin had been adamant on being the one to kill it. He had said he was responsible for those in his territory and therefore he had to dispose of the threat. They had followed the plan Stiles had layed out during their meeting. The trap was simple, they would repel the creature from one of the Alphas by placing a stone with a hole driven through it into the bed with them, meaning the creature would simply go to the other Alpha in search of her late night snack. From there, Benjamin would lie in wait until she solidified, sitting on Alpha Quddus’ chest and would kill her before she had the chance to drain the woman of the last of her life force.
Benjamin had met no resistance when he suggesting the talks be postponed for a few months, noting how sickly and weak the Alpha’s were after such an ordeal. They left on plain terms and agreeing to come back with open minds and a willingness to really work together. It was a relief and a disappointment to leave without any real progress, a relief for it to be over but not a complete loss. Derek had been talking with Sonali nearly the entire conference, exchanging stories about their packs and just talking in general. Derek had managed to make an ally of sorts, but it was Stiles who had sealed the deal. After everything with the nocnitsa and Stiles unwavering involvement in solving the problem, the Quddus and Barnett packs were tentative allies if not friends now, owing their alpha’s lives to his emissary.
No, not your emissary . Derek’s wolf paces discontentedly but he pushes the thoughts back. He can’t afford to smell discontent and upset right now while their coming home and the pack is so happy to see them after being gone for so long.
They pour out of the house after Scott. Erica runs up to Scott and Stiles and practically rips the almost-human from his arms to get her own around him. Boyd walks up and rubs Stiles shoulders a bit before turning to Derek and hugging him briefly. Isaac bounds over like the puppy he is and rubs his hands all over Stiles neck and arms, never one to be subtle about his scent marking. Erica squeezes the life out of Derek once she lets go of Stiles and Isaac hops on his back while Scott pats his shoulder with a happy grin. Jackson saunters out of the house with Lydia who both share their own hugs as Allison rushes out in a flurry.
“Sorry, sorry, I meant to come out sooner, but I was finishing making dinner.” She looks around as Kira comes out behind her in a similar state of fluster.
“Did we miss the group hug?” The kitsune asks with a little pout, looking up at Derek. It is absolutely unrefusable and Derek doesn’t even try to front that he won’t give in.
“Come on.” Derek yanks Erica and Scott closer in, readjusting Isaac as everyone presses in close and laughs while they just bask in being together. Derek breathes in deep, reveling in the scent of pack home family and it pangs at his heart but in the best way it ever could. That is, until he catches sight of Stiles.
He’s standing close, but not close enough. He hugs and he smiles but there’s something wrong about it and it rubs Derek the wrong way. Why wasn’t his packmate happy, what was going on in that crazy head of his? Between those temples that still shine with streaks of grey and white.
“Okay, dinner’s on. Wash up, let's go.” Lydia disentangles herself, initiating everyone else’s dismount from the pack huddle as they make their way inside. Isaac starts to slide down Derek’s back but he just grips the beta’s leg tighter and hefts him back up, making him laugh.
The chatter amongst the pack is non-stop from there. They are all telling him about the things he’s missed while he was away. From Scott falling out of a tree (that Isaac had dared him to climb) resulting in several broken bones to the newest records Erica had found at the thrift shop downtown. He watched with a smile as his pack gathered around their dining room table and dished what Allison and Kira had been making all afternoon in preparation for their return.
Derek looks up from his plate (ignoring how Boyd has snuck a forkful of his Mexican corn from his plate) and looks at Stiles who sits at the opposite end of the table, smiling as Lydia and Jackson bicker over who knows what. Scott tugs on his sleeve from where he sits to Stiles’ right and goes off about yet another fiasco that went down while his best friend was away. Stiles smiles and laughs at all the right places, even manages to get his eyes to crinkle at the side, but there’s something tight and strained in the look. As if he can sense the scrutiny, Stiles catches Derek’s gaze.
Stiles’ gaze drops so fast, they may not have ever actually been directed at Derek. And that’s it, he can’t just let this continue so he won’t.
“Stiles.” Derek can’t help the alpha that leaks into his voice, but it has the desired effect. Stiles’ gaze snaps back to him unmistakably, wide and somehow still unreadable. “Library, now.” Without another word, Derek is up and out of his seat, ignoring the strange looks from the pack as he leaves the room.
The library was the only non-bedroom room in the house that was soundproofed, at Stiles’ insistence that it needed to be a place of concentration. Derek heard Stiles’ chair scrape against the dining room’s hardwood floor that Stiles had chosen the stain for and pad after him, not trying to catch up. Derek looks out the window across the room as he holds the door open for Stiles to follow him in.
Stiles doesn’t flop into one of the obnoxiously plush armchairs Erica had picked out, chooses instead to stand towards the middle of the room, hovering by the shelves. His hands are fidgeting with his sleeves, the way his pants sit on his hips, non existent lint on his chest. He looks out of place. Derek can’t count the number of times he’s found Stiles here, re-reading the beastiary, going over past treaties, looking up who-even-knows-what-this-time on his laptop and yet here he stands like he’s intruding.
“What the hell is going on, Stiles?” Derek can’t handle the silence, as much as he begs and pleads for it when the pack are getting rowdy or they squabble amongst themselves, he can’t stand it now.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Stiles crosses his arms in a very obvious sign of closed-off thinking.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Derek snaps causing Stiles to flinch. It’s a small thing, barely there, but it’s there and it breaks Derek’s heart. “I’m sorr-”
“Would you stop saying that?” Now it’s Stiles who snaps, harsh and malicious and under all of that, hurt. His scent sours and Derek can’t help how his eyes immediately look at the salt and pepper streaks and his wolf whines.
“Stop what.” He asks, confused and unwilling to show it, so the question doesn’t come out very question-like.
“Saying ‘sorry’! You keep saying it and I hate it, so either stop or …. Just stop!” Stiles throws his hands up before dropping them and covering his face. He can smell the salt and wet of tears, watches as Stiles hair lifts with static electricity. But the clear and electric scent of Stiles’ magic has changed, it’s sharp like steel and rotten like apples going soft.
“I don’t know what I did wrong! What else do you want me to do?” Derek shouts, flexing his hands at his sides and trying his damnedest not to growl in sheer frustration.
“You bit me!” Stiles exclaims, collapsing backwards into an armchair, putting his hands in his hands. He’s muttering something else but it’s lost on Derek because he has to focus on keeping control away from his wolf. It whines and paces, ready to just fall over and give up because it’s been rejected even after it felt so right.
“Look, I know you didn’t want it -” Derek is cut off by a bark of laughter. But, like everything so far tonight, it isn’t right. It’s harsh and grating and so terribly wrong that Derek looks up from where the blood of his palms is dripping on the carpet that Lydia wanted.
“I didn’t want it? Derek, you are so completely stupid sometimes.” Stiles mutter, another mirthless laugh.
“Yeah.” Derek confirms slowly, feeling like he’s missed something important.
“You are such a fucking martyr, you asshole.” Stiles looks up to glare at him, “This isn’t fucking about me, it’s about you. You and how everyone is always hurting you and I’ve always been ready to fucking eviscerate anyone who so much as looked at you wrong, and here I am committed the greatest sin against Derek Hale.”
“What’s that?” Derek chokes on the words, but he’s not going to take them back. He’s always known Stiles to get defensive of him, he’s always been the first one to go up in arms for Derek’s sake. (Okay, maybe not always, but they were past that.) But this felt knew, this was a new level.
“Taking your choices away.” Stiles replies, so soft even a werewolf would strain. He’s looking down at his hands again, twisting and bending his fingers as they manipulate the last, dying rays of sunlight that filter through the window. Derek mulls that over, really thinks about what Stiles is saying and tries to see things the way he has. “I didn’t want your pity, Derek,”
“That wasn’t pity -”
“Of course it w-”
“No, Stiles, it wasn’t. I did it to save you.” Derek replants his feet, physically reaffirming his stance.
“That’s the same thing.”
“If it was pity, it wouldn’t have felt right.” Derek tells him with so much conviction that it seems to lift Stiles’ chin until they’re looking at one another. Stiles looks so utterly confused that it physically hurts in his chest, but his wolf is standing now, really standing. It’s no longer pacing, it’s tall and proud and sure.
“But-”
“No, Stiles!” Derek practically roars, “I didn’t pity you, and I am sorry because I took your choice away. You didn’t choose me and you don’t want anything to do with the bite and there I was fucking claiming you. ” Derek can’t seem to catch his breath, unable to believe that Stiles doesn’t understand. Derek’s the bad guy here, not him. “So tell me, how that,” Derek gestures to the bite marks, still red on his neck, “was pity.”
“You want me? As your emissary?” Stiles chokes out, disbelief and wonder coloring his eyes. Derek can feel the energy in the room shift and slowly the sharp and decaying scent from before is giving way to Stiles’ petrichor and autumn leaves.
“Of course I do, you idiot.” Derek sighs, but it comes out less like exasperation and more like fond relief. Stiles nods, but the fact that his eyes are still as wide as they can be gives away his disbelief. But not even the mist starting to take over Stiles’ gaze can distract Derek from the way the hair at his temples has returned to it’s youthful shade of brown. “Stiles-” He’s reaching out to the bo- man that has stood up from his chair. Fingertips just centimeters from the short strands.
“No, I can’t- I’ll tell you, but only after.” Stiles shakes his head, managing to push just barely, maybe subconsciously, into the touch so that the hair ghosts over Derek’s fingers.
“After what?” They’ve gotten close, slowly inching in on each other until now. Now they’re just a few feet from each other, not touching but the possibility is there waiting to be acted on.
“Do you accept me as your emissary? Will you take me into you pack as your second? Will you keep me as your own?” There’s so much Derek wants to say, so much that he should say, but none of it makes sense. He can’t make it sound right in his head so he’s not going to even try to speak it out loud.
“Yes.” Stiles smiles and it’s like he becomes three dimensional again. Like all this time, Derek’s been talking to a cardboard cut out and now here Stiles is in living flesh. He’s bright and breathing and his scent is strong and right.
“Der?” Stiles is still smiling, but now there’s a teasing lilt to it.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t care that he sounds a little dumb and slow, because Stiles is smiling and warm and right in front of him.
“This is where you bite me.” Derek’s breath hitches a bit, but he manages to stay on his feet. “For real this time.” Derek smiles and nods, already reaching out and grabbing Stiles by the waist to draw him in closer. Stiles arms sling around his neck and he’s tilting his jaw to the side, giving Derek the perfect path to fitting his teeth over the marks already laid out.
“Wait,” it pains him to pull away, but he has to clarify this one last thing.
“Derek.” Stiles whines.
“No, I just- can I kiss you first?” Stiles turns his face back to look at Derek incredulously, but his arms are still wrapped around his neck and he hasn’t moved away.
“What?”
“I can’t- I need you to be all in. I can’t have only one side of you, Stiles. If you’re my emissary, I need you, too.” Stiles takes a moment to gape at him before making an indignant noise and crashing their mouths together.
It’s a mess and is just on the wrong side of painful before Stiles tugs at his hair, angling their faces so their lips line up and then it’s … still not perfect. Their teeth knock every once in awhile and Stiles stumbles through it the way he’s stumbled through his entire life. But nothing could ruin this for him because he was finally getting exactly what he wanted.
“Der, I need- please.” Stiles pulls away first, using his grip on his hair to push Derek towards the exposed column of his neck in blatant offering. And who is he to refuse Stiles of anything?
This time, he doesn’t just groan in discomfort but he whimpers with the surge that rushes through them both making Derek clamp down even harder. He feels his canines sever muscle and blood floods over his tongue and Stiles is limp in his arms like he’s dying but Derek can feel the way his magic thrums with energy and life. He pulls back finally, unclenching his jaw but doesn’t move away, just repeats the process like last time of licking and soothing the wound while Stiles drapes complacent in his grip.
“Oh my god, Der.” Stiles giggles, causing Derek to pull back in confusion, looking over Stiles’ face to make sure he isn’t dying and this is hysteria setting in, “You totally love me.” Stiles grins dorkily with soft eyes.
“Yeah, I really do.” Derek smiles, soft and small but Stiles’ grin is plenty big for the both of them.
“Well, I love you, too, big guy.”
“Now what about …” Derek trails off, stroking at Stiles temples as a frown forms on his face.
“Okay, just remember the love confessions, yeah? You love me and won’t eat me or be super mad becau -”
“Stiles.” Derek’s grip tightens around the man, drawing him closer. He takes a deep breath before dropping his head to Derek’s shoulder and running his fingers through the hair at his nape.
“Deaton told me it wasn’t safe for an emissary to not be tied to a pack and still be helping them. It was an imbalance in nature, so I was, well, I was losing my mind.” Stiles shrugs, like this is no big deal. But Derek is gaping at him, eyes wide and hands clenching around Stiles’ hips.
“Stiles-”
“I know! I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry but I had a good reason.”
“Better be a damn good reason.” Derek growls, and with the way their chests are pressed together Stiles is sure to feel it as well as hear it.
“I didn’t want you to pity bond me, Der.” Stiles mutters quietly, shrugging yet again. “I wanted you to choose me, and you have. In more ways than one.” And there’s that smile again, bright and warm and all for Derek.
“Ready to break the news to the pups?” Derek smiles as Stiles groans, but he can hear the affection and fondness.
“I have officially adopted them, haven’t I?” Derek hums in agreement, ducking in for a kiss.
“Basically signed the legal papers.” He murmurs.
“Maybe one day we can do that.” Stiles whispers back against his lips, the air around them safe and content. At least it is until Stiles jerks back as far as Derek will let him with a wild look in his eyes, “Oh my god, that was so presumptuous and oh god I am so sorry, I- we don’t have to- that was really fast and-”
“Stiles?” Stiles stops, looking up at him with bright red cheeks, “Shut up.” Derek smiles and Stiles giggles and really there’s nothing else to it.